


the hands of time

by transagent8



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild, モブサイコ100 | Mob Psycho 100
Genre: Crossover, Multi, also i dont know what im doing but, and b) after i get past spoilers, ill update all tags when a) stuff comes up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 15:11:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17102948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transagent8/pseuds/transagent8
Summary: After waking in a strange room with little to no memory of anything but his name, Mob embarks on a personal quest to find out who he was and is handed one by a strange, disembodied voice.





	the hands of time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking up in an empty room with nothing to his name, a boy goes to find out what happened to his life that he can hardly recall.

_Wake up._

 

A voice cuts through the sound of silence. There’s no pinpointing where it came from.

 

_Mob, wake up._

 

There’s the sound of water draining. The silence of the room seems to echo off the blank walls.

 

_Open your eyes…_

 

Dark eyes open, blearily blinking open before glancing around the room. The room is empty, barely lit by lights across the wall that on and off glow. As a pale body pushes up from a lying down position, dark eyes move down to find a short and undershirt clad figure sitting in what looks like a tub. A brush of the fingers across the bottom reveals it damp: just drained.

 

The fingers freeze, and lift in front of the dark eyes, a moment later. A soft _‘oh’_ slips from the small figure the hand is attached to, with the realization these are his fingers.

 

Blearily, while pulling himself up, the boy tries to recall something - anything. _My name is Shigeo Kageyama_ , he manages to cut through the fog of sleep and confusion. _But that...person called me Mob_ …

 

A quick glance around the room shows it to be nearly empty; Mob’s only company is a layer of dust, but there’s a pedestal with an odd rectangle shape in the middle of it. He steps toward it, curious about the only thing that isn’t dust.

 

It reacts to his presence: the machine lights up, and Mob jumps, but all it does is stand up the object it was holding; about the size of a book, but it doesn’t look as if it would open if he tried to pry it apart.

 

_Take the Sheikah slate._

 

Mob jumps, quickly turning around: there look to be no hidden doors, and he is completely alone. The voice is coming from nowhere.

 

_It should help you on your journey._

 

The wording makes Mob confused. He tries to ask what that means, but he can barely manage a weak croak of sound before he falls into a coughing fit.

 

 _How long have I been asleep?_  He thinks when his breath returns, desperately wishing he had something to drink now.

 

 _Journey?_   Because he just woke up, barely able to tell where he might be, only knowing his name and that the room he resides in is cold.

 

He eyes the slate warily, but eventually reaches out and takes it. It lights up on his touch, a design of an eye coming across the screen. It’s so familiar, but Mob can’t seem to pinpoint why.

 

The wall with the same eye design beside him splits, with a sound that makes him jump, and folds away to reveal a path. Hesitantly, glancing around all the while, he steps through the doorway, faced with a room full of breaking boxes and two worn down chests.

 

He cracks open the first chest, hesitant, and finds a clean but worn down shirt. Quickly, he slides out of his damp shirt to replace it with the newer one.

 

He decides to try and kick the other chest open - for _some_ reason - which proves to be a bad choice, considering he now realizes he’s barefoot. The chest does open, though.

 

After a minute of hissing swears while leaning on the wall, holding his toes, he makes himself stand back up and look in the chest.

 

Pants and shoes.

 

He’s frustrated he didn’t open this chest first.

 

After he’s fully dressed - and needs no fear of breaking his toes by being stupid - he turns to the doorway with a soft huff. It doesn’t look like something he can open, dark eyes brushing across the walls and floor. There’s a pedestal, but it doesn’t look like it does anything.

 

_Hold up the Sheikah slate._

 

With a small jolt and another quick turn to find himself alone, he squints at the pedestal again. When he looks long enough, he can see the same faint eye design on the slate and that, frustratingly, triggers a memory he can’t bring forward.

 

Slowly, he takes the slate off his belt loop, holding it up to the eye on the pedestal. They both light up for a moment, and then the door’s edges glow before it starts folding away.

 

After a moment, Mob slowly walks into the light of the opening, raising a hand off clutching the Sheikah slate to shield his eyes from the sudden onslaught of light. He stands for a moment, staring out into the unknown past the doorway.

 

Slowly, he steps forward.

 

He has to climb a rock to get out - which winds him and takes a few tries, as the rock has few places for his hands and feet to latch or scramble onto. When he gets up, he’s standing in the sunlight shining in once again, taking a moment to relish in its warmth before slowly stepping out of the hole.

 

He keeps walking when he’s out of the darkness, a deep part of him filled with anticipation as he stands on the edge of the cliff he came out on. He inhales deeply when he stops on it, his eyes slipping shut as the wind picks up for a moment. It blows his bangs off his forehead, and he soaks it in for a few minutes.

 

His eyes open when he hears a sound, dark eyes turning in the direction before his head does. He sees a figure, covered and hidden in rags - a stranger. A deep instinct in him makes him want to bristle like a cat, Mob’s impassive face holding contact with the stranger’s before they turn and walk to a sit under a small cliff.

 

On his way down to see them - overly curious as he feels at the moment - he picks up a tree branch, tossing it around for a moment before carrying it with him to go meet the stranger.

 

The stranger is tall, dark hair brushing over their eyes, a scruff almost visible the lower part of their face. The most odd thing about them is that they have large, vibrant red dots on their cheeks. They don’t look up when he comes over, and he glances down at the fire, eyes immediately locking onto the apple there.

 

He suddenly realizes he hasn’t eaten once since he woke up.

 

In a moment of poor judgement, he reaches down and picks up the apple, finding it warm and a bit soft in his hand.

 

“Oi,” the stranger says, and Mob jumps, clutching the apple so it doesn’t fall to the ground and roll off. “That’s my apple, kid.”

 

“I- I’m sorry,” Mob says, voice going a little softer. “I just-“

 

The stranger laughs, then, a little sharp, and it makes Mob jump again. “I’m screwing with ya, kid. Go ahead, you’re skin and bones.”

 

“I am not,” he murmurs, but sits across from them, free arm wrapping around his knees as he brings them to his chest and bites into the warm apple.

 

“Ya kinda are,” They say, with a grin, still looking a little sharp - it looks like it doesn’t belong on their face, but Mob elects not to say anything and chew the apple instead. After a moment, they speak again. “Never had a baked apple before?”

 

“Not that I remember,” he murmurs after swallowing, a little fidgety. “Um...who are you?”

 

“Nobody important,” they respond, and Mob frowns at them, to which they chuckle. “Really. I’m just someone who’s been here for a long time. You can call me whatever you’d like, if you’re looking for my name.”

 

Thinking back to how they keep calling him ‘kid’, Mob speaks up softly. “Okay, um. What do you...want me to call you?” When they open their mouth again - looking tired - he interrupts to continue. “I mean...um. Pronouns?”

 

That catches the stranger off guard; they stop and blink at him, eyes going hardly wider to be noticed. They relax after a moment, but seem to watch him more intently afterward that question. “He, usually, but they is fine too.”

 

Mob nods, mentally amending that with calling the stranger ‘the man’. “Where...are we?”

 

“The Great Plateau,” the man answers, gesturing around them slightly. “It’s an isolated plain in the Spice Kingdom. Nobody gets on, nobody gets down.” A pause. “Well. Nobody gets down alive. Unless you have magic.”

 

Mob hums in response. He can’t think of any possible magic he has, so there’s no way for him to get off.

 

“There are monsters, too,” the man starts, pushing himself up with his hands. Mob copies him, wobbling on his feet a bit for a moment. The man walks around the little crevice they were beneath to stand before a small lake, and Mob follows him, glancing him up and down as they stop, finding the man is a good few heads taller than him.

 

“And the ruins of the temple of the gods.” He gestures, and Mob follows the gesture, eyes finding a run down temple. The roof is falling in, and it looks like nobody’s tried to keep it in repair for years. “The only thing that’s really in there still is a statue of the goddess.”

 

“The goddess?” Mob blinks, head tilting with the question. The man raises his eyebrows and nods, pausing his explanation of the land.

 

“They say there’s a goddess who created the kingdom, and sent a hunk of land with her people skyward once in the face of a great danger. There are also the three golden goddesses who made the land itself.” Mob answers with a small ‘oh’, as he doesn’t know what else to say to show he was listening.

 

“But there aren’t many monsters to worry about here,” the man continues. “They’re mostly small ones. There’s also another ruin that nobody can figure out where it came from. I’m not even sure what it could’ve been.” Mob glances in the direction he points, seeing an odd structure that looks nothing like a ruin.

 

“The only other thing I’d say you need to keep in mind is there’s a lake of tar near the middle of the plateau, and a cold mountain I don’t recommend going up without an elixir or a very warm shirt.” He points, and Mob squints when he sees an odd structure. “The water up there’s frozen, so you can’t swim in it. You’d die.”

 

The blunt, calm way he says it sends a very brief shiver up Mob’s spine.

 

“That’s all I can think you’d _need_ to know,” he finishes, turning back to Mob. “By the way, what’s your name?”

 

Mob takes a pause, and then speaks softly. “Shigeo Kageyama. But, um...you can call me Mob, too.” This brings the man pause again.

 

“Where did a name like ‘Mob’ come from?” He sounds vaguely bemused, and Mob gives the smallest shrug, shoulders hunching a bit.

 

“It...felt right.” He doesn’t think he should tell a stranger he was hearing a voice calling him Mob.

 

“...alright.” The man gives a short nod, still looking at Mob, which makes him squirm. “I’m gonna go to my cabin. I’ll see you around, I suppose?”

 

“Mhm,” Mob hums out, rocking back and forth on his feet a little. He watches the man go, and starts walking himself, in the opposite direction.

 

He’s rather curious about that temple.

**Author's Note:**

> um! hi
> 
> this is my first time publishing a fic that im actually proud i wrote but. im really excited about it! cause i adore breath of the wild and i've recently come to love mob psycho so! i got inspired by my friend to write this. mainly bc they got me into mob psycho
> 
> chapter title taken from 'take my breath away' by dagames!
> 
> constructive criticism and comments welcome! im very nervous on my characterization of the two current characters. i'd love to hear feedback!


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